Dante v Santa
by Trinity Archangel
Summary: Done many, many years ago, found in the forgotten archives of the hard drive. First humour fic for the holidays.


Dante vs Santa

Dante shifted, kicking the tangled sheets from his legs in frustration and turned to roll onto his side when a loud clatter tore open his eyes. Once again he'd fallen asleep with his gun belt sprawled out next to him, a habit he thought he had broken after he rolled over and shot himself four months ago. This time, it landed harmlessly with a solid _WHUMP!_ on the floor next to his bed.

Damn. Now that he was up, he'd never get back to sleep with the moon painting stripes across his eyes from his broken blind slats. He rolled again, turning his back to the window and drew his knees up to his chest. It was Christmas Eve, a day that went by in a blur after Lady and Trish came by for a festive game of poker, only they wouldn't strip, so he made them drink Yager bombs instead. Not that it would have made a difference; he lost almost every game and was pissing in the kitchen sink before six o'clock. Now he was drenched in a cold sweat, trying to force himself back to sleep. How could _anyone_ sleep with all that stomping going on upstairs?

Upstairs? He _was_ upstairs.

Dante shot straight up, suspicious, listening intently for the noise again. Someone was shuffling about on his roof. The footsteps, heavy, made their way past his bedroom and faded out somewhere toward the living room.

"Idiot." Dante grumbled, swinging his bare feet onto the wooden floor. The cold sent a sobering jolt through him, and he bent to pick up Ivory on his way toward the bedroom door. Some fool was trying to break into Devil May Cry. From the roof at that. He tip-toed down the hall, careful not to step on any of the loose flooring and startle his visitor; he wanted to make sure they were safely inside before he shot the shit out of them. By the time he was at the foot of the stairs, the chimney was bustling with life, grunting and shooting soot out across the living room.

"Uh huh." Dante smiled, taking aim in the general direction.

The chimney finally let the visitor down with a great swirling cloud of ash, lost in the darkness of the living room. Dante could see the faint outline of the offender bending over to pull a large bag out from where he had come.

"Merry Christmas," Dante greeted.

The man turned to face the voice, eyes torn open in surprise. The next instant, there was an explosion from Ivory, lighting up Santa's startled face before a he dropped like a rock, cradling his leg and writhing in pain.

"Gotcha, you fuck," Dante said with some satisfaction, turning on the living room light to view his prize. He nearly toppled over when he saw Santa Claus, sitting in a pool of his own blood, covered in soot and foaming at the mouth. He was as rotund and crimson as the stories suggested, grizzled whiskers and cherubic white curls tumbling out from his pointed red hat. Except he was not so jolly and benevolent as expected. In fact, his eyes were shooting daggers at Dante, teeth gritted in pain.

"You shot me!"

"Santa?" Dante exclaimed with surprise. It was possible he was still drunk. But he did make the shot. In the dark. Under the influence. So he was feeling pretty good about himself, despite.

Santa was beet red. He tore off his hat and threw it at Dante as though it was a brick.

"Who else would it be? It's Christmas eve!"

Dante shrugged, staring at the red hat at his feet. He went over to aid him up when he tried to stand but he only got shrugged off angrily.

"I ought to shit in your stocking! Get away from me!" He shoved Dante aside and managed to hobble to the nearest armchair, groaning and mumbling to himself.

"What's going on down here?"

Dante turned to greet the voice. Trish, wearing his oversized long sleeved shirt, was staring wide eyed from the stairs, Lady just as stunned behind her, mouth ajar and short black hair wild. She was in a loose necktie and dress shirt, buttoned like a drunken savant.

"Santa!" They exclaimed together, clamoring around him like school children.

"What happened?" Lady asked concerned, helping to lift his fat little leg onto the magazine table.

"Oh, he shot me," Santa griped, sopping up the attention. The three of them turned to stare at him contemptuously. Dante threw his hands up in surrender.

"Come on! I didn't even know he existed!"

"Jog off!" Santa spat defensively, allowing Trish to place a cushion behind his back. "Of course I exist. How do you think the presents get under the tree?"

Dante was equally defensive. "Yeah? How come I never got what I asked for?" He barked, jabbing a finger in his direction.

"You were a rotten child!" Then to Lady, "Easy! Please!"

"You mean this has _never _happened before?" Yeah, it was hard for Dante to believe no one had ever busted a cap in the reverse-burglar, clamoring out of a chimney in the wee hours of the morning.

Trish turned to Dante, suddenly deciding she couldn't stand someone who would shoot Santa Claus, and scowled. Dante had just shot the most benevolent man on the planet and he was not only being rude, but idling about like a drunk, waving Ivory around threateningly, and selfishly asking about presents he never deserved to have.

"Why don't you go feed the reindeer, or something," she hissed, waving him off.

Santa smiled warmly at her. "They like milk," he added sweetly.

Dante groaned, stomping off to the kitchen to oblige. Milk. The reindeer liked milk. He swung open the fridge, came up short, rummaged through the cabinets with disgust, pretending not to listen to the way the girls gushed over him like a celebrity. He didn't even have any powered milk. He turned to the small round kitchen table, covered with sticky playing cards and spilled liquor. Bailey's Irish Cream was sorta like milk. He grabbed the bottle and pulled his coat off the rack by the door.

"Be back," he shouted, but he doubted they heard him over Santa's jolly guffaw.

By the time he'd made it back inside, Lady and Trish had fixed the fat fucker a Styrofoam plate of pizza, lit a fire and bandaged his thick leg, perched atop his magazine table. Lady was sitting in his lap, shamelessly spewing out her Christmas list and Trish was practically nestled in his whiskers, rubbing his chubby red shoulders. Dante slammed the door to announce his return. They clammed up and glared at him as though they'd just finished saying something about him when he walked in.

"You good, Claus?" He asked, dragging off his coat and shaking off the snow in the lobby.

"Oh, I suppose I could get along." He slid Lady off his lap with some difficulty, pouting when they "awed" in disappointment. He stood up, balancing on one leg, and tried to affix his velvet pants over his bandages and thick calf.

Dante was the only one pouting when the girls handed him his sack of goodies and aided him to the door, bypassing him as though he were invisible.

"Bye Santa!" They chirped, shuddering outside the front door with their eyes fixed to the roof. He considered locking them out but thought better of it. Maybe they could get him back on the big guy's "nice" list. After all, he'd let those foul beasts polish off an entire bottle of Bailey's without batting an eyelash.

He was nestled in the couch scowling when he heard the hooves on the roof shuffling about. The door slammed and the girls came back, cheeks reddened with delight and mouths running a mile a minute. They stopped talking promptly when they realized Dante was staring coldly at them. Trish flushed with embarrassment and pulled her shirt down low to hide her legs, as if it just occurred to her she was indecently exposed, and Lady made a beeline for the stairs to fetch a pair of pants. He turned away sourly.

Suddenly, the clattering on the roof became frantic. The pattering hooves mashed into the roof madly and the sound of a sled crashing onto its side and sliding into the yard with Santa's frightened bellow accompanying it on the way down jolted Dante to his feet. One by one, eight tiny reindeer slid off the roof with a groan and collapsed in a pile. A plethora of muffled swear words followed. A moment later, the front door came bursting open and there stood a disheveled Santa, furious beyond belief, clutching the empty bottle of Bailey's in one icy hand.

"ALCOHOL?" He screamed, staring pointedly at Dante. "You gave the reindeer alcohol?"

"What happened?" Dante asked innocently.

Santa balked at his question. "What _happened?_ Donner took a half step off the roof and dragged down the whole lot of them! That's what happened! They're too drunk to fly!" He barked, sending the bottle sailing at him. Dante ducked it by a hair. It hit the back wall and shattered to bits.

"You idiot!"

Lady came scrambling down the stairs again, a pair of jeans in her hands. "What was that?" She jammed her leg into one side and hopped into the living room stuffing her shirttails into the rim.

"Dante got the reindeer drunk!" Trish explained, giving his arm a disciplinary smack.

He batted her off. "I didn't hear any objections when they were lapping it up!"

Santa sighed heavily, defeated. "Now what am I supposed to do? I can't deliver presents like this!"

"Yeah," Lady chimed in, siding with Santa. "It's not fair for Dante to ruin everyone's Christmas."

Dante mumbled something unintelligible.

Santa brushed by him in a huff, hobbling his way outside and leaving him to defend from two very irate women with their arms folded across their chests. Dante matched their poses defiantly. Whatever Santa was doing on the roof had him travelling across until he heard a final thump in the yard. Minutes later, Santa came back in, candy apple red with eyes to match under his frosty brows. He pushed past Dante again, enough to make him stutter step but softened when he saw Trish and Lady's concerned faces brimming with questions.

"Well," he started between a sigh. "Only three reindeer are manageable. The rest are scattered in the yard drooling on themselves." He cut his eyes at Dante. "I can't deliver presents like this."

At that, Lady and Trish wailed dramatically, fluttering around the forlorn elf to comfort him with pats and kisses.

"Christmas is ruined!"

"No, no, girls, ladies, I think I can manage…I can't allow not one child to go without a Christmas…" He tried to take a step forward, which resulted in a played-up stumble into the awaiting arms of Lady and Trish. Suddenly, he couldn't walk anymore. Dante threw up his arms again.

"Help me to the couch…that's it, easy…" When he'd settled into the groove he'd already made in the seat cushion, he turned to Dante with the ever present scowl he saved for him.

"You're going to have to deliver the rest of the presents. Please. Do it for the children." Dante may have been the only one that detected the sinister undertones in his delivery; the girls were too charmed and naïve to suspect malice.

Dante's response was firm. "No. Absolutely not."

Three dejected faces stared at him until Trish's own expression started to morph. She was first to break the silent shock.

"You're a dick."

"Trish!" Dante chided, though he was not unaccustomed to colorful verbiage. Lady was in his face before he could blink, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"If you don't get your ass in that sleigh and deliver those presents…" She couldn't even think of a punishment severe enough to finish the sentence, but in one eye held brimstone and in the other, fire.

Dante leaned away from the assaulting finger.

"Just get in the sleigh and shut up," Trish mumbled, lifting fatty's leg back atop the table.

Dante opened his mouth to say something but in staring at the manifested Cerberus beast of Trish, Santa and Lady, he relented.

"FINE." He tried to sound fed up and he did. Santa didn't seem to have expected any other answer as he waved him off as though he were dismissing some servile simpleton.

"It won't take you long. Bag is in the sleigh. Lay a finger on your nose if you want them to take off."

Dante didn't hear any of that besides the impossibility that he blew off like outing a candle. "It won't take me long?" He echoed, incredulous.

Santa turned his bulk to glare at him as if the question had an obvious answer. Fire was spitting out his lips when he responded.

"No, it won't. This is the last city to do tonight. Do you think every house in town has a child in it? Or that everyone celebrates Christmas?" He snapped.

Dante balked, working up a nasty rebuttal when Lady shoved a coat into his arms and turned him away to usher him out the door. The last thing he heard as the door shut was, "And don't blow out my flux capacitor!"

He stood staring blankly at the closed door for a moment. "Unbelievable!"

So, the reluctant devil— now angel tonight

Set off on his work without joy or delight.

He was efficient, he was fast without pause or delay

Except when he stopped to—pardon me, if you may,

Relieve himself from the sky, what a sight!

To see the golden shower sprinkling in the night.

At the umpteenth house he stopped to rummage

What could anyone want with all of this rubbish?

What would Sally want with a Baby Wet Wet?

When she could be riding dirty with a Hot Wheels set?

And Johnny was only kinda good this year,

So he only deserved half of the teddy bear—the head he threw into the fire, dismissing the impact dismembered Teddy would give,

To ruin Christmas hereafter, as long as he lived.

That stupid bike got jammed in the chimney and with the front door locked,

Little Rickie was certainly out on his luck.

Giving a boy a chemistry set

Is an awfully irresponsibly thing –

Burning ants and starting fires is all mom would see,

So instead, he gave him a fine tea set for three.

With every present he would roll, rattle and shake

Until glass trinkets shattered and jewelry was brake.

Damn shimmying down chimneys if the presents would fit

He just dropped them down into the fiery pits.

Explosions and mayhem were left in his wake

Except when he was parked for an overly long break.

Dante the hero, the villain, the crook

Sifting through the bag for value in the things that he took.

With the peaking of dawn revealing his plunder

The rest of the presents he tore asunder.

Too bad for Jimmy, and Bobby and Blake

Having him deliver presents was a _terrible_ mistake

Easy Bake Ovens and clothes galore—

All things that found themselves at the dump

As Dante poured out the last presents with a noisy _kerplunk!_

No empathy at all, there was always next year.

With three remaining reindeer and an empty sack,

He flew back home now that he'd gotten the knack.

Dante, brimming with resent even after he'd gotten home, didn't manage to make an entrance loud enough to pull the three lovers away from the hot cups of apple cider and crackling fire at the hearth.

"—Actually, I'm Jewish, but the holiday has become so commercialized that I thought it would be ok if—" The slamming of the door ended Santa's sentence. They greeted him with indifference.

"It's done." He started, knocking snow from his shoes. "It's done. Now, get out."

"Well!" Lady said with a huff.

Santa snaked his arms out from around their shoulders. "No, no. It is nearly dawn. I should be on my way…" His soothing voice blended with the girls' disappointed moans. Yet, he was somehow boiling when he addressed Dante.

"Did you get all the houses?"  
>"Yes," He lied, folding his arms again.<p>

"_All_ of them?"

"Yes!" He lied vehemently.

"All right, then." He got up with Trish and Lady's aid. After he rolled down his bloody pant leg, buttoned up his coat and pulled on his mittens, allowed Trish to put on his pointy hat and Lady to brush the soot from aforementioned coat, he turned to Dante with an insincere, "Thanks."

Dante only stood aside with his teeth grinding to dust watching Trish and Lady under his arms, cooing and giggling like fools. Foolish fools with foolish girl notions.

"Oh, Chris, will I see you next year?" Lady gushed, pressing into his side with a leg bent at the knee, flagging about in the air. Chris? Curse Santa and his charms!

Santa nestled his cheek to her face and turned smug at the sweet kisses she met him with. He drew her closer and nodded. On his other side, Trish was doing much of the same, with her hand just barely teasing into the lapel of his coat.

"Let me just gather the reindeer in the yard and I'll soon be on my way."

"No need," Dante interrupted. "The team is assembled and ready on the roof. Bye."

He stormed past the trio and held the door open for him.

"Jolly good. I've left some presents under the tree." Again, Dante felt his eyes cutting across him. It was open season on his fat ass as soon as the holiday was over. At the mention, Trish and Lady flew from his arms to the tree where the presents they didn't notice from before were magically waiting for them.

Santa glared at Dante and Dante, unfazed, blinked his glassy eyes at him. "Sorry if the sleigh smells like pee."

Santa pushed past him for the last time with a grunt and hobbled his way outside. The door was closing before he'd cleared the doorway.

Dante shed his coat in the entryway and joined the girls in the living room. They were chattering like Lories over their presents, overly pleased, and peeking into one another's boxes with glee. Dante sank into the couch, somewhat swallowed into the indent watching Lady dish out presents.

"This one is for you, Trish."

She snatched it from her hand. "Thanks!"

"And this…" Another snatch. She was moving like they'd disappear if she delayed.

"Thanks!"

"These are for me…and this one…" She extended her arm back without looking. Dante gleamed with intrigue at the neatly wrapped box, green ribbon glittery with tinsel and expertly folded in an elaborate bow. He leaned in slowly to savor the moment, inching toward the gift with the jittery anticipation of a child. After all, he had not been forgotten. Possibilities swam inside his head. Could it be the Daisy Air Rifle he so desired of yester year?

Lady murdered his hope with the blasé regard of an assassin. "This is also for Trish."

The present disappeared from his sight in a blink.

"Ah! Whatever!" He barked. Despite the blow, he got up to check the stockings over the fireplace.

"Uh-uh, don't even bother," Trish warned, holding up a sheer, pink brassiere that Dante would never see again. He couldn't believe Santa had gotten her lingerie.

"Yah, I'd just throw it out," Lady added, tucking her legs under her. The gun cleaning set she got was too cool to pull her eyes away from to offer him a glimpse of sympathy.

"There had better not be shit in here," he said darkly, daring to peep in. He thought better of it and let it hang where it was.

"You know what? That's fine. I kinda figured this would happen." He submitted, plopping back into the couch. "I got me a flux capacitor and a brand new pair of kicks."

That said he picked up his feet and crossed them gingerly atop the magazine table. Trish and Lady stared with disbelief at the shiny new sneakers for the first time noticing that he wasn't wearing his boots.

"Air Jordans, Dante?" Lady bemused.

"Air _fucking_ Jordans." He tucked his arms behind his head. "That kid got my boots, so don't worry. He's not without shoes."

Trish rose up in awe. "You took Santa's flux capacitor?"  
>"Among other things," he returned dismissively.<p>

"Like what?"

"Like things. Just stuff. You know, that (he referred to the flux capacitor), these shoes, a Conway Twitty album and this pinky ring." He wiggled the adorned digit, sparkling with an oversized nugget weighing it down. "By the time he realizes I took anything he'll be back in the North Pole." Dante seemed pretty proud of himself.

"That ring," Trish started, matter of fact, "is a Super bowl ring."

Dante looked at it admirably after that. "Yeah? Whoever Mario was. Is. Marino. Whatever. After I pawn it, it'll be a _great _Christmas." He smiled up at the looming ladies standing over him with their fists balled.

"What did you guys get? Wait; are you upset because I didn't get you anything?"

Two fists came flying at his face, blackening his eyes on impact.


End file.
